Little Hangleton
by violentartista
Summary: Tom Riddle was raised by his paternal family, changing the history of the Wizarding world forever.
1. Riddle Manor: I

AN:/ Welcome to another series of drabbles, this time concerning Tom Riddle. For those of you waiting on more Slytherin Harry, never fear, more will be out momentarily. For those of you just stepping into my little worlds, I hope you enjoy your stay. This story will be something quite different, a massive 'what if' concerning one of my favourite characters. Tom Marvolo Riddle was raised by his paternal family in Little Hangleton, which naturally, has changed the wizarding world forever. For better or worse, is up to you to decide. The 'M' rating is for later chapters concerning disturbing themes, violence and sexuality.

**  
Little Hangleton**

I

The angry, red-faced man was most perplexing to Tom. He had ordered the matron to fill Tom's bags with his meager things much to her chagrin; which seemed quite frightful to him, since one didn't order the matron to do anything, ever. She had complied, albeit reluctantly and seemed motivated by the fact that this strange man would be removing Tom from her sight forever.

"One less mouth to feed is worth the trouble," the matron had muttered, giving him a scathing look.

Tom sat calmly on the bed, dangling his feet. If he squinted, the angry man almost looked like his own face in the mirror; it was a very nice illusion. Of course, like all the children in the stone walled orphanage, he didn't have any parents and the notions that a long lost relative would come to take him away were simply childish foolishness.

"Well come on, you," The man said irritably, "Straighten yourself up. I'm not having you walking into father's estate looking like a ragamuffin."

The dark haired five year old got down off the stiff, wooden bed and straightened out his wrinkled uniform. It didn't seem to do any good, nor did it lessen the very reddish hue to the angry man's face.

"Lord almighty, what they put on children these days. Bring the bags, mam," the man said dismissively, grabbing a hold of Tom's hand and yanking him behind.

The matron huffed her irritation but took Tom's lone tattered sack alongside them.

The man scowled at Tom, "At least you don't look like her, small favors indeed. Walk quickly! Our driver is an impatient man."

Tom frowned. He was starting to really dislike this strange man and wasn't entirely sure all the time what he was talking about. Perhaps he was mad, like the unfortunates who sometimes delivered food to the orphanage. He certainly seemed just as foul tempered.

"Get in the car, boy!" He snarled, when they had arrived in front a very nice vehicle.

The five year old Tom had never ridden in a car before. He might have expressed some of this excitement if he hadn't sensed immediate chastisement in his future from the angry man if he did. Instead, he calmly entered the car, said a polite goodbye to the matron, who didn't seem to care one way or the other and sat on the leather seats with his sack on his lap. The angry man sat beside him, ignoring Tom completely, staring instead out the window at the slowly moving scenery.


	2. Riddle Manor: II

**Little Hangleton**

II

The house was very fine and very large. It sat perched on the top of a high hill that overlooked a low sweeping valley filled with brightly colored little houses that boasted quaint folk architecture. Tom thought it was very impressive, especially compared to the drab stone building that had been his previous home.

Tom stood outside the car with his sack in his hands staring in wonder at the horses lazily grazing on the hills. The countryside was beautiful and seemed immense, even with the gigantic house looming behind him.

"Don't just stand there, wool gathering!" the angry man said in an exasperated tone.

He grabbed Tom's hand in a strong grip and led him to the large entryway. When Tom looked back, the driver winked at him and smiled. He hadn't been gifted with many smiles in his life but somehow, it made him feel slightly better. Even if the driver was missing quite a few teeth. Tom was sad to see the wonderful car weave its way back down the hillside, away from them.

Through giant wooden doors Tom was tugged by the irritable stranger and pulled through many fine sitting rooms filled with stately furniture and up marble colored hallways that held glorious, electric chandeliers. In a dark hallway, filled with fine patterned wallpaper they reached a small wooden door.

"Well?" The man said, staring down at him with disdain, "Straighten up! Look as decent as you can in that getup."

Tom fidgeted. He was really starting to feel uncomfortable under the man's flustered gaze.

They went through the door together, into a massive library. Large ornate chairs were all over the place and a big fireplace held a crackling blaze. There was a massive chair in front of it and in that chair, a very stately looking old man. He began to smile when his tired gaze fell on Tom.

"Little Tom," he said, with great pleasure, "My, you are the spitting image aren't you?"

The irritable man coughed, "Tom _Marvolo_ Riddle was his given name at the orphanage. Shocking, isn't it."

"Tom," the old man said, gesturing to the angry man, "Let us be. I want to talk to my grandson and you, I'm sure, have plenty to do on this fine day."

The senior Tom made a choked disgusted noise and then squeezed young Tom's shoulder in an almost painful grip. Tom the younger was used to pain from the other children and he did not flinch. The elder Tom stormed out of the room and slammed the door quite loudly behind him, leaving young Tom standing rather awkwardly in front of the elderly man by himself.

"Forgive your father," the elderly man said, "He blames your mother for all his woes. But it was his own foolishness that got himself in this situation, in the first place. Come here, come closer little Tom, I want to take a look at you."

Young Tom had put the pieces together and was reeling in shock from what he had been told. He had a father! A living breathing relative! But what had happened to his mother…

"I'm sure you have plenty of questions," his grandfather said, "But we'll get to them, all in time."

The old man pinched his cheeks and took a good look at his face and grinned.

"Good bones, handsome face. You'll be a looker when you're all grown up, the village girls will be beside themselves," he said, chuckling to himself.

Tom flushed, nobody had ever paid any attention to him, nor had he ever received a compliment in his entire young life.

"Sit on my knee," the old man gestured, "And I'll tell you all about your mother and father. Then, when you've gotten your fill of this old man's rambling, you can go to your nurse Marny who will get you some new clothes and a bath."

It was like he had gone from the lowliest pauper to high prince. Tom was beside himself, he was so overcome the corners of his lips twitched themselves into an almost smile. It was the first genuine smile he'd ever had across his features. Tom felt confident, as he sat on the old man's knee and listened to his stories; that everything was going to change for the better.


	3. Riddle Manor: III

**Little Hangleton**

III

Through creative interpretation, Tom had learned quite a bit about his parents. The most important fact was that his father hadn't expected a son and was rather hostile to the notion of looking after one. This didn't really bother Tom, as he hadn't really expected a father either. His mother was a bit more of a mystery; she had somehow lured his father into marriage which apparently completely buggered Tom senior's chances with another young lady, hence the rage towards an unfortunate soul who was already dead.

It appeared to Tom that his grandfather subverted more explicit details that wouldn't be appropriate for a child to hear about one's parents. This wasn't an important matter to Tom, after all, he would eventually find out everything one way or the other. He was nothing, if not secure about his ability to educate himself.

After this edifying discussion, his irritable and impatient father appeared to collect him again and take him to a lower part of the manor.

"Hurry up!" he'd grouse but Tom was learning no matter how quick he was, it was never quite quick enough.

They passed through a squat, roughshod wooden door that led into an area that resembled a country kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it wasn't covered in opulent materials. Instead its function seemed fully utilitarian.

"Marny!" the senior Tom shouted, "Get up here!"

"Coming, coming!" a gray haired woman answered, "Where's the fire, Tom! Lord almighty what a-,"

The older woman stopped stiff when she came upon young Tom, standing in his orphanage scrubs. She clapped her hands to her mouth and almost squealed. Tom twitched, completely unsure of how to react.

"It's little Tom!" she said, in a high pitched voice.

Almost immediately she stooped and went through a very similar ritual to Tom's grandfather, looking at his face and pawing at his hair.

"He's so pale!" she exclaimed, "What have they been feeding you, boy?"

"What do you think you twit," Tom senior uttered, "He was in an orphanage."

Marny gave the older Tom a stern glare, "Off with you boy, I've got work to do with this little one. Poor little Tom-"

She cooed and fussed over him which apparently was the signal to the senior Tom he had been dismissed. He seemed none too sorry to be leaving and left the kitchen in a flurry of irritation, without another word to his son.

"You've got her eyes little Tom," Marny said, smoothing his hair to the side, "Well lets get you washed up, and then we can have tea and scones."

"Scones!" Tom said excitedly, unable to contain himself.

The orphanage rarely had sweet breads and when they did, the older boys got to them first, leaving the small children like Tom quite bereft.

"And crumpets with rosehip jelly and whatever else your heart desires," Marny said, taking his hand, "You're our little lord of the house now."

Tom liked that. _Lord_. It was a dignified title, much better then 'brat' or 'mange' or the other creatively negative names he had been called before.

After tea and enough scones with jam to satiate a dozen little boys, Tom laid on a huge bed in a huge room that was all his own. He was wearing warm, clean clothes with a promise from Marny that he'd be getting tailored ones in the near future. He looked up at the painted stars on the ceiling, surrounded by beautiful blue curtains and began giggling uncontrollably.

He felt like he was finally getting exactly what he deserved.


	4. Riddle Manor: IV

AN:/ Thank-you for the very kind reviews so far! I'm glad at least some people are enjoying this less then usual AU. A few questions will be answered in the next few chapters, and some more may be raised as things progress. This is not a 'Tom Riddle turns into a model citizen' story at all and I think those of you who are enamored with Tom Riddle's kinder and crueler aspects, will have plenty to enjoy later. **  
**

**Little Hangleton**

IV

Little Tom was allowed quite a bit of leeway with regards to wandering around the Riddle grounds. Thomas Riddle the elder owned almost the entire town and valley, including very profitable rural hills that were filled with farmsteads and animals. Tom could only go as far as the first pasture fences and was reminded almost a hundred times a day by his tetchy father that he was only allowed to _look_ at the horses and _not touch_. Which meant, he could meander no further then the end of the first pasture fence by the closed gate, before the pasture became populated by riding steeds.

However, this wasn't as detrimental as it might seem. There was a small forest just before the pasture that curled around Riddle Manor like a guardian spirit. It was in these woods that Tom Riddle realized he could talk to snakes.

Not that small snakes in forests generally had much to say. But they did lend a certain credence to his own beliefs and Marny's insinuations that he was a very special boy indeed and deserved a great deal of adulation and praise. Even the old cook ruffled his hair when he saw young Tom reading books in comfortable corners away from his irritable father, that were far above a normal young person's skill.

"That's our little Tom," Marny would coo, "Smart as a whip!"

"He'll go far," Largo the cook would say with a great harrumph from his large form, as if this was the last affirmative statement on the subject anyone would ever need.

Yet, no matter how mature he felt, he still craved acceptance and comfort from anyone who would give it to him.

Sometimes in the night, when he had kicked the covers off of his bed and had begun shivering, he dreamed he was back in the cold, unwelcome orphanage and would feel, more then see, the matron's steely eyes on him, always watching. It was better then the dreams in which he would be chased by the older orphanage boys, cornered until they could hurl sticks and stones at him and the other tiny children. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to the other little boys that shared the cold, dark rooms with him. But mostly, he was just glad to have put the orphanage behind him forever and have the brutal realities of little food and frozen, unfeeling eyes on him relegated to his most unfortunate nightmares.

It certainly made the sweet tea and scones taste better in the morning.

One day, when Tom was seven and skulking about down in the lower level of Riddle Manor with a book tucked under his arm, he heard Marny and Largo whispering about something. He crept up to the door and pressed his ear against the wood, hoping to catch a tiny snatch of the conversation.

"It's only because Mary died that he even got Tom out to look for him," Marny said, in a vexing fashion, "If she hadn't passed away…well I fear what would have happened to little Tom."

"It was sort of funny," Largo said, "Don't you think? That Tom only decided to look for his boy when his father fell ill too."

"Funnier still, how his health improved markedly after," Marny clipped, then he heard her scuffling feet move as though she had leaned over closer to Largo, "I don't care what anybody says about the house of Gaunt, Merope wasn't a squib, sure as anything!"

"She had the raw ability Marny," Largo huffed, "But I doubt she could have managed such a curse, at least not while dying."

"She had months wandering about in muggle London," Marny stated, "If I had been left to rot by my husband, hoodwinked by a well placed potion or no, I'd be in a right state and liable to do anything to keep my innocent child alive. That includes a well placed curse on the Riddles."

"Should quiet the door," Largo said, "If you're going to go on like that."

"Why?" Marny sighed, "There isn't anybody else like us around."

"Young ears Marny," Largo said, "You'd be surprised what they hear."

"Fine, have it your way," she said, "_Silencio!_"

And Tom could hear nothing else through the door.


	5. Riddle Manor: V

**Little Hangleton**

V

Some days, Tom wondered if he just dreamed things up to fill some empty void in his life caused by a traumatic five years in an orphanage. It certainly fit well with the scientific journals he enjoyed perusing in the Riddle library. Other days however, strange things happened that he just couldn't explain away, no matter how hard he tried.

The words muggle, squib and _Silencio_ didn't mean much to him or the books he could find. He did understand what a curse was in terms of the fairy stories he quietly read when no one was looking but those were childish fancies and not that scientific at all.

At the tender age of nine, he decided that's what he was going to be when he grew up; a scientist. Someone who searched for answers, no matter what the cost. He had even begun fooling around with dead animals out in the forests and fields, of which there were plenty due to a large number of foxes in the valley.

But poking a rotten robin with a stick wasn't the same as methodical dissection as his scientific texts were wanton to point out. When Tom had 'accidentally' broken a rat's neck in the kitchens, Marny had been of the mind to fuss over it, thereby relegating any of his further research away from the soft hearted.

Tom dangled his arms over the thick wooden fence at the edge of the pasture, balefully watching the horses with their fascinating muscle ligatures move in the grass. Even if he couldn't dissect one, he'd love to ride them, just once.

"Arrogant twit," Tom uttered, in reference to his father's stringent rules about looking and not touching, "As if he'd understand the finer details of equestrian physiology."

Pleased at a well delivered insult, even if the recipient weren't around to hear it, Tom smiled at the crisp fall trees. He took a sidelong glance at the locked gate and immediately returned his features to a scowl.

Beyond the gate and the pasture, the rest of the woods loomed darkly at the edge. But Tom had never managed to get through that way, the forest turned tangled and dangerous after a certain point, filled with crags and swamps. He had heard about the people who owned the swampland, _the Gaunts_ and wondered if they had been related to his mother. Unfortunately, even the townspeople were woefully inadequate sources of information. They only spoke about them in hushed whispers, as though afraid of their very presence. And they certainly weren't fond of the Riddles. By association alone, he was quite bereft of any answers.

The horses whinnied and skittered nervously as the wind picked up dead leaves from the ground, tossing them in the air. Tom blinked and then squinted against the sun. He was certain he'd seen something thrashing around in the woods.

"There is something out there," He mused, jumping down from the fence, trying to get a better look.

"Oh, bugger this stupid fence!" He snarled, kicking it, "Open damn you! Open!"

His angry gaze focused on the gate. Then the latch on the gate cracked in half as the gate itself swung open.

Tom stood very still with his mouth agape.

"Well," he said a bit breathlessly, "That was unexpected."

Not likely to dissuade opportunity when it knocks, he quickly ran through the fence forgetting about the horses and their promised rides, instead focusing on the trees moving madly by the edge of the forest.

As dark clouds swirled around the edge of the woods, the dreadful gruesome type of fairy tales Tom liked to read best, came back to haunt him. He held back for only a moment, long enough to catch his breath and tell himself that monsters weren't real.

The oats turned to craggy gray rocks when he made it to where the thrashing had become worse. A violent blue light exploded right in front of him, toppling Tom onto his backside.

Staggering from the forest came what Tom could only describe, as a vagrant looking man. He was squat and goulish looking, holding a wounded shoulder. The man stumbled towards Tom, spitting what sounded like exotic curses.

"_Youuuu,_" He hissed, "_Muggle filth!"_

It was probably the most disturbing voice Tom had ever heard, hissing like a snake from his lips. But then the man looked at him, really looked and for some reason, Tom knew he was in the direst of trouble.

Another crash came from the forest, then another round of blue light. Tom shouted when the man's chest opened up like an overripe tomato, spewing blood across his cheek in an undignified splat. The empty, deep set eyes still looked right at him from the ground, even though Tom knew the man was quite dead.

Tom breathed in short gasps and scrambled to get on his feet.

That was when he saw the small girl by the edge of the woods, with the long black hair. She looked tiny and dirty, with squat features, as if she had been rolling in mange her whole life. She was holding a thin, dirty stick and breathing hard. She took one look at Tom and fled back into the trees.

"Wait!" Tom shouted, "Don't go!"

But the girl didn't seem to hear him. Tom looked at his hand, stained by a fine red spatter and then at the dead man on the ground. The clouds had cast deep shadows all across the valley and Tom suddenly felt terribly unsettled. The blank eyes that looked up at him had such an eerie expression on them, like an 'Ah ha!' instead of anger. As if the dead man had finally figured something imperative out, before exploding in gore.

"M-marny!" Tom began to scream, terrified out of his wits, "Marny!"

He took off running through the field, shouting all the way back to Riddle manor.


	6. Riddle Manor: VI

AN:/ We never really see the Peverell coat of arms and I assumed that the wizarding version would be quite different then the muggle one, so I bs'd the design mentioned later. **  
**

**Little Hangleton**

VI

"And you intentionally disobeyed me by going into the horse pastures without even a second thought! Completely ruined a gate by means you don't wish to talk about-,"

Young Tom sat on an uncomfortable leather stool in his father's study trying to blot out Tom senior's obnoxious rant about disobeying rules and flagrant disregard for authority and about a hundred other things he delighted in pinning on young Tom.

"I certainly hope you didn't tell that ridiculous story to the authorities. Blue lights! _Really!_ One would think you had something to hide Tom," his father said, with great relish.

Only Marny's strong hand resting on his shoulder managed to control his maddening anger towards his father but even she looked a bit tired and pale today. Young Tom figured that if he had to listen to his father order people around all day, he'd be sick as a dog too.

"I don't have anything to hide," young Tom ground out through painfully clenched teeth, "I saw what I saw."

His father snorted in disdain, "Of course you did. Lord knows, you'd be in a sanitarium by now if I had anything to say about it. Such hysterical interpretations, they're unseemly for a Riddle!"

Young Tom wanted so badly to state that they had completely different ideas of what was unseemly for a Riddle, particularly when his father had abandoned his pregnant wife to run home sulking to his daddy but managed to hold his tongue. Just barely. He focused instead on sinking deeper into his stool and wishing that whatever means he had used to crack the gate open could be used to crack open his father's head and spray his brains all over the annoyingly pretentious study. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he willed it, it didn't seem to work.

Later that evening, he saw Marny talking to two strange men through the thick glass window in his bedroom. When he was finally permitted to leave his make shift prison for a late supper, she was waiting for him in the dining room with a small box.

"I suppose this is yours now Tom," Marny said, sliding the dirty gray box to him.

Tom picked up the box curiously, "What is it?"

When he opened it, he saw a very beautiful gold ring inlaid with a flat black stone. When the stone caught the light, a strange symbol appeared on its surface. It resembled a coat of arms but instead of swords or shields, there was a circle with an abstract pattern on it, bisected by a straight line.

Marny touched his small hand with her large, strong bony one.

"It's a ring, from your mother's family," she said, "They were awful people Tom. Terrible people. I dare say Morfin deserved what he got, for what he did to your poor mother alone. Don't let that knowledge taint your memories Tom. Consider the ring a fresh start. Let old ghosts rest."

"But," Tom said hesitantly, "What about the little girl?"

"I suppose she ran away with her mother. Morfin was a bad man, a very _very_ bad man. If they ran away, I don't think anyone would have blamed them," Marny said quietly, sidestepping the insinuation that the girl and her mother had perhaps been the murderers.

Marny patted his hand encouragingly and left him to his supper and the ring, its gold gilt edges shining up at him.

"So they were relatives," Tom whispered to himself, "Too bad I didn't get to ask any questions before he splattered his guts across the acreage."

He put the ring back into the box and ate his supper in quiet contemplation. There was a great deal of material for him to research later, particularly now that he had a coat of arms he could reference. Perhaps the day wasn't such a wash after all, despite his innumerable punishments.

It was almost enough to put a small, impish smile on his face.


	7. Riddle Manor: VII

AN:/ Thank-you for your reviews so far, there are rather more then I expected for this especially so early in the story. I hope that I keep surprising you by the treatment of certain canon events. I look forward to your interpretations and speculations.

**Little Hangleton **

**VII**

Only a few short weeks after the Gaunt murder, Thomas Riddle purchased the rest of the valley in Little Hangleton. He turned the edges around the swamp into livestock grazing and the swamp itself became an excellent source of peat moss that the farmers bought up in the winter to keep their barns warm.

The coffers of the Riddle estate grew ever fatter.

The little girl was not discovered or discussed by Marny and the others but young Tom did learn through village gossip that Morfin Gaunt had had a wife and daughter. At least the identity of the girl herself had become clear to him. Her fate however, remained a mystery.

In the winter of Tom's tenth year just after his birthday, the elder Thomas Riddle went to bed at an early seven o'clock at night after consuming a great deal of cognac and loudly complaining of chest pains.

He did not rise the next morning.

"Make sure that boy isn't in the way," Tom senior had said to Marny, while neatening his suit, "I don't want him making a _scene!_"

It was something quite new for young Tom to see so many people in Riddle manor.

He had the distinct impression that his father was somehow ashamed of him; this suspicion was made worse when he was banished on a regular basis to the second smallest library of the house, whenever company came over. It was not terribly worrisome to young Tom, people weren't that interesting to him and children his own age were more vexing than comforting.

The doctors however, did interest him. They whispered together and looked furtively at Tom senior as though he had something to hide. Tom the younger couldn't help but smile placidly at his father, the man was beginning to sweat slightly under his white, starched dress shirt. Unfortunately, once he was caught at this little game, he was banished to the library with Marny until the doctors left.

The funeral was another matter entirely.

Dressed in his Sunday finest, young Tom was escorted by his father to the Little Hangleton chapel, situated beside an old ossuary that bisected a respectably large cemetery, filled with fine statues.

It was of course, a mere gesture on Tom senior's part. He held the young Tom's arm hard enough to cut off the circulation in his wrist, as if young Tom would take the first opportunity to run off. Tom the younger privately admitted that there would have been some satisfaction foiling his father's pathetic attempt at mourning, it was clear even to him that his father wasn't the least bit sorry at all. Yet, he wasn't raised an animal by Marny and managed to be on his best behavior, despite his father's infuriating scrutiny.

A very pretty woman stepped quietly up to them after the service. She had light hair done up in ringlets and wore a black mourner's dress that still managed to incorporate a fair amount of shell blue, bringing out her similarly colored eyes. She was very pale and dainty looking, like a fine china doll.

Her gaze fell on young Tom and for a moment, twisted into something unrecognizable. But then the second passed and she schooled her features into a plain mask.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Riddle," she said, extending her hand formally.

"Cecilia," Tom's father said, taking her hand, "Or is that too familiar? Mrs. Willard, is it now?"

The lovely woman looked slightly pinched and tried to tug her hand back but the senior Tom was loathe to let it go. After giving it more then a solid squeeze, he let her hand drop daintily back to her side.

"I'm so sorry," the woman said, her eyes looking moist, "For everything."

She turned quite quickly and left as suddenly as she had appeared. Young Tom flinched; the grip on his arm had become quite painful.


	8. Riddle Manor: VIII

**Little Hangleton**

**VIII**

Young Tom traced the names of Mary Riddle and Thomas Riddle on the tombstone. His father was trying to charm some business owners from the town and had finally let young Tom alone. Of course, his first move had been to flee the murderous grip on his arm. Unfortunately, once that had been accomplished, there wasn't much else to alleviate his boredom.

A shadow fell across his idle tracing and young Tom turned around only to face the doll like woman from before. He noted that she wasn't as pretty close up, as her makeup was quite excessive and her cheeks were rouged so darkly as to appear almost like a caricature of Marie Antoinette.

Tom eyed her warily; he didn't care for the way the woman was looking at him.

"You've got her eyes," she declared at last, "But Tom's good features, what a farce."

Her fine painted nails and soft hands snatched his face tightly in her grip.

"Better to look like you do, then that ugly woman," Cecilia clucked, pinning young Tom under her gaze, "Do you know anything about your mother? I thought not. Even Tom knew nothing about her, it was all so strange. And now here you are and there he is but without her. Funny old life, isn't it?"

When the steely fingers let him go, Tom stumbled back a few steps and grabbed the tombstone for support.

"She died," Tom said slowly, "That's all there is to it. No great mystery."

Cecilia sniffed disdainfully, "A little liar too, just like her. But I wonder boy, I really do wonder if you are just like her in every way."

The woman swooped down on him, her hand resting right above his pulse point and fingers wrapped firmly by his throat. Tom tried desperately not to show fear; that was what the adventure stories he read had told him to do when confronted with beasts of the wild. And this woman was a beast, if not in looks. Her mint laced breath blasted in his nose as her cold eyes scrutinized him, as though checking him for some strange disease.

"They say she was a witch! And I didn't believe them at all but now…she was so ugly! Like a black haired little gremlin! And such a slut around all those village boys, you can bet she was no virgin when my Tom got to her, oh no. But he married her and that awful woman took him away from me, what was I to do? Oh Tom, do you have any idea what you caused?" Cecilia hissed at him, "Whatever possessed him to take you home, with eyes like those!"

Tom's breath was coming out in tight little gasps. He had never been so angry, so enraged, he could barely contain it. He wanted to smother that woman, to bury her face in the ground the way his grandfather was buried because even though his grandfather had pointedly ignored his father's tyranny over him, at least he had shown him a modicum of kindness. This painted doll of a woman was vile and evil to him, for nothing more then his unfortunate birth. She looked so smug too, when her fingers tightened ever so slightly and Tom could feel that anger boiling up to the surface, as if he were going to explode…

"Cecilia!" Marny shouted, storming down into the graveyard, her mourner's skirts flying in the wind, "Get away from my boy!"

The nasty woman turned away from him, letting his neck go. Tom undid his clenched fingers that he swore had etched little indentations into the stone. The anger ebbed away but that awful feeling remained. He'd wanted her to die so much; he wondered if someone could simply will such a thing to happen.

"Your boy?" Cecilia said, jutting her chin out as if defying a nursemaid, "How charming."

"Your father's looking for you dear," Marny said, tight lipped, "Best go to him before he sends your husband out to get you."

Those words sent Cecilia hurrying out of the graveyard. Marny checked him over, making an irritated noise when she saw a few red marks around his neck.

"Don't ever end up alone with that woman again!" Marny said, obviously flustered, "Her and your father drove each other 'round the twist, she's not right in the head! Fools in love, I swear!"

Marny noticed his dark look and gave his hair an encouraging ruffle in a bid to cheer him up.

"Come on Tom, I'm taking you home. Your father's going out with them again," Marny gestured towards some well dressed gentleman at the edge of the grounds, she didn't approve of his father's company or penchant for staying out at night, drinking in the village pub, "It'll be just you and me and the cook tonight."

"S'good," Tom said quietly, then considered, "Can we have those cherry hand pies?"

"Whatever your little heart desires," Marny said, smiling at him.

Tom decided this would be good enough and quietly filed away his anger for another day. If he ever saw that doll faced woman again…well.

_No wonder they had been in love_, Tom thought angrily_, they're both completely mental!_


	9. Riddle Manor: IX

**AN:/**Sorry about the long wait, I had other priorities to take care of first. Here we begin to see Tom Riddle's Slytherin side come out. Lots of foreshadowing for interesting events to come.

**Little Hangleton**

**IX**

The household suffered under Tom senior's tyrannical rule. At least, Tom the younger felt it did.

Tom senior had fired some older members of the household, who had been serving the Riddles for practically generations. He even went so far as to dismiss the elderly gardener Mr. Bryce and his teenage son. Tom liked Mr. Bryce and his son, who was somewhat of a prankster. It irritated Tom to no end that his father was populating the staff with less talented but more attractive servants. What were appearances anyway? It was maddening to young Tom that at eleven, he felt more emotional complexity then his father had apparently felt, in his entire life.

Tom sulked moodily in the second smallest library, with his hoard of books as his only comfort.

He didn't want to speak to his father who only had harsh words for him. He didn't care if he was shuffled from one of the nicer rooms in the house to a servant's bedroom downstairs as punishment for being outspoken. What really irked him, was how his father never seemed to notice his accomplishments. Marny and Largo did of course and they were fine people in their practical way but hardly advanced scholars.

Tom longed for real challenges but none seemed forthcoming. He was determined to find a way to excel, beyond anything his father had ever hoped for. Eventually he wanted to become a force to be reckoned with, quite separate from the influence of his father, who had tried to smite him his whole life simply for being born.

"It's unfair," Tom mumbled to his books, "He's a total moronic buffoon!"

Tom sighed and glanced to the side, suddenly noticing a strange parchment envelope sitting on one of the gigantic history texts. He picked it up, noticing a wax seal on the front he didn't recognize. And who used wax seals nowadays anyway? They were practically medieval.

"_To Tom Riddle, the second smallest library in Riddle Manor_. What's this nonsense? Marny?" Tom called curiously, "Largo?"

But neither the cook or his Nanny were seen about. Tom huffed in irritation, maybe it was some parting practical joke Frank orchestrated before leaving. He popped the wax seal and opened up the parchment letter.

_Dear Mr. Riddle…_Tom began to read. Then his eyes grew very big.

"Marny!" he called frantically, "Marny!"

Marny staggered from somewhere in the house to his library. Once she saw the parchment Tom held in his hand, she was by his side in an instant, greedily reading his letter.

"So it's not a joke?" Tom said, unsure of how to feel, "It says that Professor Dumbledore head of transfig- transfigurations - is that even a real word! - Is going to come meet my father?"

"That's how it's done, Tom, with muggle borns," Marny said, her eyes brightening, "You've got yourself a real Hogwarts letter!"

"A what?" Tom said, still reeling from it all, "Is that like a university?"

Marny crushed the letter to her chest and almost swooned, "You're a wizard Tom, a real wizard! Just like your mother! You're going to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not just any university!"

She crowed her delight and twirled Tom around. Marny's gray hair and features were so filled with mirth, they looked almost years younger. Tom went along with her infectious excitement, although he still wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

"Come on," Marny said, taking his arm, "To the kitchen! Tarts, pies, scones! Whatever you love the most, it's yours! Largo will be beside himself, we both went to Hogwarts, it's a very special place to all of us!"

"Did my Mum go to Hogwarts?" Tom asked curiously.

Marny's cheerful manner suddenly dampened. She kneeled down a little, so that they were almost the same height.

"She didn't Tom," Marny said regretfully, "Her family wouldn't let her. But you're going, I don't care how hard we have to fight for it, you're a wizard and won't be denied your heritage!"

"I want to go," Tom said, that familiar yearning to be something aching in his chest, "I really _really_ want to go to Hogwarts!"

"You will Tom," Marny said, as they went towards the kitchen, squeezing his arm.

Tom was sure it wouldn't be an easy task to convince his father but he knew, no matter what, he had to somehow get to that school. It felt like his _destiny_ had finally called to him. This was his chance to be something big and nothing in the world, would stop him from taking advantage of it.


	10. Riddle Manor: X

AN:/ Wow...it's been a while. It's been torturous not writing for so long but thankfully, I now have the time again! For those of you waiting eagerly for FTG, do not fear, the next chapter is almost done. I would like to state that I'm co-writing another project with Silent Shoggoth concerning Silent Hill. It's linked in my profile and if you like scary stuff or detective type stories, you should certainly check it out. Thank-you for so many reviews and my deepest regrets for being so darn long getting a chapter out for this.

**Little Hangleton**

**X**

Tom wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting when someone called themselves a wizard. It certainly hadn't been the cheery, red haired man that gave him an encouraging smile and a pat on the head.

"Do you want to come to Hogwarts Tom?" the bearded red-haired man, known as Professor Dumbledore, had asked him.

"Of course I do," Tom had replied, "More than anything."

Marny had sat the three of them down with some tea and delicious scones. Tom couldn't help but notice that the professor helped himself to a scone, a minimum of three times.

His scones hadn't been touched due to nervousness and more then a little apprehension. Professor Dumbledore seemed like an all right person, but Tom really didn't know what his father was going to say about him, or what conclusions would be drawn based on that conversation alone. However, he certainly wasn't about to admit that to a stranger, wizard or not.

Marny smiled at Tom encouragingly, "He's a clever little boy. He likes to learn things on his own when he can. He takes to books, like a duck takes to water."

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, bemused, "Perhaps there's a Ravenclaw in the making, sitting with us today!"

Marny giggled, "Wouldn't that be wonderful! You'd be in my old house, Tom!"

Professor Dumbledore grinned at him and Tom could see that through the man's lively eyes, a lot of kindness was offered in his direction. And yet, underneath that veneer Tom could see other things, or rather feel them prickling across his skin like tiny, misty drops.

It was power, a great deal of it and of a peculiar sort.

And there was nothing else in the world Tom could say, that he'd rather have than that.

Every minute he spent around his father only made him more zealous in his ambition to get out of Little Hangleton and become something more. There was nothing there that he could say he honestly wanted.

"It would be wonderful," Tom said, a charming boyish smile flitting across his face, "I'd like that."

Marny practically melted but Tom knew when he was being scrutinized by another party. Professor Dumbledore was a friendly sort and very well meaning but Tom could also sense an intense cleverness in the man that he hadn't felt in such a dull little hamlet before. It was something to be wary of, he decided.

The conversation with Tom's father did not go quite so well. Tom had pushed his ear solidly against the library door, to try and catch some of the conversation. For some reason, he could hear nothing until the door swung open, almost crashing into him.

"And he won't be going to your- your _heathen_ school either!" He heard his father sputter in a most ungracious fashion.

Tom's heart sank into the pit of his stomach; his father only used that tone when he was angry beyond all comprehension. Tom just barely managed to hide behind a thick velvet curtain before the Professor and an apologetic Marny, blustered out of the old oak doors. Behind them, the doors were resolutely slammed shut.

Tom shuffled silently behind the velvet tapestry, wondering if he would be rescued by Marny or if his father had made a coffin and slammed the lid shut, around his dreams.

"I'm so sorry Professor," Marny said, her eyes glistening, "He's not usually that difficult."

"Unless it has to do with the Wizarding world," Professor Dumbledore said congenially, completely un-rattled, "I understand, Marny, I've dealt with many recalcitrant parents before, they always let them go in the end."

But Marny wasn't so easily comforted. Her hands twisted her apron up into a tormented ball.

"Professor," Marny said in a strained voice, "He only took him in because…they thought there was a curse. And it's affected his judgment concerning our young Tom, he's so very afraid of everything to do with that woman!"

"Understandably, I'm afraid," Professor Dumbledore said, "And there will be others at Hogwarts who would shun him for the wizarding side of his family, more than they ever would for the muggle. But I have every confidence in our young charge that he will overcome any difficulties set in his way. Cheer up, my dear. It will all come to right in the end."

And Professor Dumbledore's eyes landed on a piece of velvet curtain that held a boy shaped lump in it, and smiled encouragingly.


End file.
